Sand Dollars
by Klavierliebe
Summary: Nothing can be loved or hated unless it is first known. Dillon/Anna, for the Epic Challenge.


I do not own Gallagher Girls.

**.Sand Dollars.**

_Nothing can be loved or hated unless it is first known._

Of course Anna sees him.

It's impossible not to notice him -- all scrawny bones, pale skin and floppy, dark blonde hair, all soulless black eyes and thin nose. Every time she catches sight of him, her face burns like fire. She wants to punch him in the face. She wants to slug him in the eye, trip him into mud, shove him against a wall and ki--

What is she thinking about?

The petite girl sips her smoothie and wishes this Cove Ops exercise would just _end_ already; it's extremely boring trying to blend into a smoothie shop when no one's bothering to look for her there (especially with _him _lounging in the same room, he was _so close_).

Anna has nothing to occupy her thoughts with, so she idly twirls a lock of ink-black hair and lets her eyes wander around the shop aimlessly. Subconsciously, her doe-like eyes land on him: her torturous fiend of a sworn enemy. Dillon. She loathes every single eyelash around his bottomless black eyes, she abhors every twitchy finger and restless fidget after that insanely embarrassing incident in the pharmacy. And yet…

As she watches, Anna is fascinated.

Dillon has come here alone, just like herself. Instead of a school assignment, however, he seems to be here for the quiet, soothing atmosphere, his eyes glazed and narrowed in thought. The chocolate-banana smoothie towering on the counter in front of him is untouched, and his clothes are scruffier then average. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks are -- almost imperceptibly, to the untrained eye -- paler than normal.

_Something's wrong, _Anna realizes as she continues to take in his appearance. Shoes with little holes in them, uncombed fluffy hair, trembling fingertips. Her tormentor is hurting, hurting like nothing she's ever seen in a civilian.

Just as a crushing force is about to propel her to her feet and plop her down into the seat next to him, a voice crackles over her comms, and she is forced to listen as her codename slammed the golden door of opportunity before her. "Pixie," Mr. Solomon calls, "You've been compromised."

With a perplexing tug of disappointment and relief, the ebony-haired Gallagher Girl slides out of her booth and lets the chilly linoleum floor meet her sandals. Without glancing backwards at where he hunches over the counter, she slips through the glass doors and calmly begins stepping down the block, towards the old gazebo where they were planned to meet once compromised.

Before she can get twenty paces down the sidewalk, the quiet noise of a glass door sliding open greets her from behind, and she can't help but turn and see if it's Dillon, exiting the smoothie shop in her footsteps. To her surprise, it _is _her biggest enemy. He's currently walking away from her -- chances are he'd never even laid eyes on her.

It's insanely tempting to follow him, to clandestinely figure out what it is that's bothering her Dillon (Just Dillon). Glancing around, she figures Solomon won't miss her for about two more minutes and she's got to hurry, he's already turned the corner. So Anna moves briskly across the sidewalk, and whips around the corner Dillon disappeared to. She could only hope not to be recognized by him, if he saw her -- at least she isn't wearing her uniform.

Dillon is actually heading off the street, towards the fringe of trees at the beginning of the forest surrounding Roseville. Anna convinces herself this is merely research -- a civilian boy is acting strange and out of place; of course she gets suspicious and trails him for a little. It's only what a good spy would do, right?

The scrawny boy idly wanders, and Anna thinks he might be lost. The trees are tall and imposing, hulking over her head and blotting out most of the sun. Dillon continues to amble through the woods, and she continues to follow him, although Solomon will be in her ear any second now for taking too long and wasting time.

"Pixie, we were supposed to meet at the gazebo when compromised."

As if on cue, Solomon is speaking into her communication device, voice almost robotic. Anna fumbles with a response, then finally whispers, "I'll be right there, Wise Guy." Not very efficient, but it will stall him for a moment.

Meanwhile, Dillon has stopped. The trees here are thinner, casting spots of sunlight onto the dappled leaves. A stream cascades through the brush -- deep enough to wade into where the water will be up to Anna's chest. _What is this place? _she wonders, almost in awe of the beautiful setting. All that's missing is melodic bird chirps and for Dillon to smile like a Greek god.

Instead of doing that, Dillon positions himself near the edge of the brook, fingering the surface of the sluggish water with one finger. His eyes are flat, wisps of silvery-gray memories spiraling around the edges of his iris. Anna is tempted to stand up and step out from behind her thorn bush and tree, but before she can Dillon jumps.

He sails through the air like a bird before crashing into the water with a loud splash. It looked like so much fun that Anna can't help but smile a little bit, even as he stays underwater. His head is, in fact, still submerged…ten seconds…fifteen…twenty…twenty five…_oh, no way…_

Then she's running, stampeding over the leaves and crashing through the mud to splash through the water -- soaking her best jeans -- and wrapping her thin arms around him to haul him to the surface. He's spitting out water and there's something squishy tickling her foot, but she gasps and heaves his surprisingly thin frame up onto the shore, Dillon beginning to shove her away even as he clings to her. They're splayed on the sand like washed-up sand dollars and he's rolling away from her immediately.

Shaking his head like a dog, the blonde-haired boy spits out, "What was _that_ for?"

Anna stares at him, transfixed. This is the first time she's ever done something like that, so rash, so quick. If she stopped to wait, he could be dead. The person she hates above all others -- so she believes -- and she saves his life.

It finally dawns on her that he's yelling. She flinches. "Your welcome," she mumbles. "I was only trying to help -- what were you thinking, drowning yourself like that?"

He's suddenly mute, and the rational section of her brain realizes her comms have gotten wet and there's no way for her teacher to reach her now. It's just Anna, Dillon, and a babbling brook in the middle of the Roseville forest. She wants to crinkle her nose and run away, but her knees are shaking and he's so silent it's scaring her.

Then of course he's really looking at her, obsidian eyes locked with her deer-in-a-headlight brown orbs. His mouth is opening, even as he trembles under the soaked jacket clinging roughly to his scrawny shoulders. "Do I know you?" The dreaded question is spilling out of his mouth and Anna is nodding her head before she can think.

Dillon's eyes widen and he's gaping at her. "You're that Gallagher girl from the pharmacy," he mutters, eyebrows clashing together. Anna's teeth smash against one another and for a minute, she regrets saving his life, because he speaks _Gallagher _with such revulsion it sickens her.

"Yeah, that'd be me," she admits, pushing her dripping hair away from her face and resisting a shiver from the cold. They were both still lying in the mud, soaking wet with the sun on their faces and Dillon looking so lost it hurt her.

He stumbled to his feet, one wet hand using a maple tree for support. "What…were you _following _me?" he asks, looking at her like she was absolutely insane. "I can sue you for that," he blurts out, taking a step back from the frail girl picking herself up off the shore, coated in mud and sand and not-so-clean water from the brook.

"But…but I just saved your life," she points out, taking a step forward. She has no idea why this matters to her so much, why the thought of her cover (her friends, her school, her life, her _secrets_) have not invaded like a swarm of bees. It's still just her and Dillon, confused and rattled.

He grits his teeth, as if to grumble, _Don't remind me_, and sighs. "Who said I wanted you to? I didn't need your help then, I don't need your help now. I'm not grateful for that stunt, with you, pulling me out…who_ are _you, anyway?"

_Uhh, _she thinks, wondering if introductions would normally come before the saving-your-life thing. If only her life was normal, then things would be so much easier. "I'm Anna."

Dillon's hair is plastered all over his head -- thin and blonde and all over the place, just like him -- and Anna has the strange impulse to both push him back into the brook and run away blushing at the same time. _Anna! _A voice screams inside her head. _Get back to Roseville now, or Solomon will have your head!_

"I have to go," she says in a rush, muscles cramping from cold and terror when she imagines her peers' and Mr. Solomon's wary stares. Dillon's eyes rocket to her own, the inky depths almost paralyzing her as she starts to step away.

He hesitates, one hand still firmly latched onto the maple tree. "Wait," he mutters, and Anna's heart freezes. After a long beat of silence, in which tension crackled through the air -- _does she want to punch him into next week or kiss him silly_? -- until he finally says, "Your sandal fell off."

There's a swooping sensation of utter disappointment mixed with relief, and she slips her foot into it before murmuring a, "Don't you dare throw yourself in another river -- I'll just come and fetch you again, got it?" She backs away, fixing him with a bold stare. He scoffs, she half-smiles, and the trees swallow up her small frame like the sun on a cloudy day.

She doesn't look back, and he's looking forward.

--

- For kiwiosity's Epic Challenge, the Smaller Canon category. I hope Dillon/Anna is accepted!

- The quote in italics is from Leonardo da Vinci.


End file.
